In the latter part of the last century there lived a man ofscience, an eminent proficient in every branch of naturalphilosophy, who not long before our story opens had made experienceof a spiritual affinity more attractive than any chemical one. Hehad left his laboratory to the care of an assistant, cleared hisfine countenance from the furnace smoke, washed the stain of acidsfrom his fingers, and persuaded a beautiful woman to become hiswife. In those days when the comparatively recent discovery ofelectricity and other kindred mysteries of Nature seemed to openpaths into the region of miracle, it was not unusual for the loveof science to rival the love of woman in its depth and absorbingenergy. The higher intellect, the imagination, the spirit, and eventhe heart might all find their congenial aliment in pursuits which,as some of their ardent votaries believed, would ascend from onestep of powerful intelligence to another, until the philosophershould lay his hand on the secret of creative force and perhapsmake new worlds for himself. We know not whether Aylmer possessedthis degree of faith in man's ultimate control over Nature. He haddevoted himself, however, too unreservedly to scientific studiesever to be weaned from them by any second passion. His love for hisyoung wife might prove the stronger of the two; but it could onlybe by intertwining itself with his love of science, and uniting thestrength of the latter to his own. Such a union accordingly took place, and was attended with trulyremarkable consequences and a deeply impressive moral. One day,very soon after their marriage, Aylmer sat gazing at his wife witha trouble in his countenance that grew stronger until he spoke. "Georgiana," said he, "has it never occurred to you that themark upon your cheek might be removed?" "No, indeed," said she, smiling; but perceiving the seriousnessof his manner, she blushed deeply. "To tell you the truth it hasbeen so often called a charm that I was simple enough to imagine itmight be so." "Ah, upon another face perhaps it might," replied her husband;"but never on yours. No, dearest Georgiana, you came so nearlyperfect from the hand of Nature that this slightest possibledefect, which we hesitate whether to term a defect or a beauty,shocks me, as being the visible mark of earthly imperfection." "Shocks you, my husband!" cried Georgiana, deeply hurt; at firstreddening with momentary anger, but then bursting into tears. "Thenwhy did you take me from my mother's side? You cannot love whatshocks you!" To explain this conversation it must be mentioned that in thecentre of Georgiana's left cheek there was a singular mark, deeplyinterwoven, as it were, with the texture and substance of her face.In the usual state of her complexion--a healthy though delicatebloom--the mark wore a tint of deeper crimson, which imperfectlydefined its shape amid the surrounding rosiness. When she blushedit gradually became more indistinct, and finally vanished amid thetriumphant rush of blood that bathed the whole cheek with itsbrilliant glow. But if any shifting motion caused her to turn palethere was the mark again, a crimson stain upon the snow, in whatAylmer sometimes deemed an almost fearful distinctness. Its shapebore not a little similarity to the human hand, though of thesmallest pygmy size. Georgiana's lovers were wont to say that somefairy at her
birth hour had laid her tiny hand upon the infant'scheek, and left this impress there in token of the magic endowmentsthat were to give her such sway over all hearts. Many a desperateswain would have risked life for the privilege of pressing his lipsto the mysterious hand. It must not be concealed, however, that theimpression wrought by this fairy sign manual varied exceedingly,according to the difference of temperament in the beholders. Somefastidious persons--but they were exclusively of her ownsex--affirmed that the bloody hand, as they chose to call it, quitedestroyed the effect of Georgiana's beauty, and rendered hercountenance even hideous. But it would be as reasonable to say thatone of those small blue stains which sometimes occur in the pureststatuary marble would convert the Eve of Powers to a monster.Masculine observers, if the birthmark did not heighten theiradmiration, contented themselves with wishing it away, that theworld might possess one living specimen of ideal loveliness withoutthe semblance of a flaw. After his marriage,--for he thought littleor nothing of the matter before,-Aylmer discovered that this wasthe case with himself. Had she been less beautiful,--if Envy's self could have foundaught else to sneer at,--he might have felt his affectionheightened by the prettiness of this mimic hand, now vaguelyportrayed, now lost, now stealing forth again and glimmering to andfro with every pulse of emotion that throbbed within her heart; butseeing her otherwise so perfect, he found this one defect grow moreand more intolerable with every moment of their united lives. Itwas the fatal flaw of humanity which Nature, in one shape oranother, stamps ineffaceably on all her productions, either toimply that they are temporary and finite, or that their perfectionmust be wrought by toil and pain. The crimson hand expressed theineludible gripe in which mortality clutches the highest and purestof earthly mould, degrading them into kindred with the lowest, andeven with the very brutes, like whom their visible frames return todust. In this manner, selecting it as the symbol of his wife'sliability to sin, sorrow, decay, and death, Aylmer's sombreimagination was not long in rendering the birthmark a frightfulobject, causing him more trouble and horror than ever Georgiana'sbeauty, whether of soul or sense, had given him delight. At all the seasons which should have been their happiest, heinvariably and without intending it, nay, in spite of a purpose tothe contrary, reverted to this one disastrous topic. Trifling as itat first appeared, it so connected itself with innumerable trainsof thought and modes of feeling that it became the central point ofall. With the morning twilight Aylmer opened his eyes upon hiswife's face and recognized the symbol of imperfection; and whenthey sat together at the evening hearth his eyes wanderedstealthily to her cheek, and beheld, flickering with the blaze ofthe wood fire, the spectral hand that wrote mortality where hewould fain have worshipped. Georgiana soon learned to shudder athis gaze. It needed but a glance with the peculiar expression thathis face often wore to change the roses of her cheek into adeathlike paleness, amid which the crimson hand was broughtstrongly out, like a bass-relief of ruby on the whitest marble. Late one night when the lights were growing dim, so as hardly tobetray the stain on the poor wife's cheek, she herself, for thefirst time, voluntarily took up the subject. "Do you remember, my dear Aylmer," said she, with a feebleattempt at a smile, "have you any recollection of a dream lastnight about this odious hand?"
"None! none whatever!" replied Aylmer, starting; but then headded, in a dry, cold tone, affected for the sake of concealing thereal depth of his emotion, "I might well dream of it; for before Ifell asleep it had taken a pretty firm hold of my fancy." "And you did dream of it?" continued Georgiana, hastily; for shedreaded lest a gush of tears should interrupt what she had to say."A terrible dream! I wonder that you can forget it. Is it possibleto forget this one expression?--'It is in her heart now; we musthave it out!' Reflect, my husband; for by all means I would haveyou recall that dream." The mind is in a sad state when Sleep, the all-involving, cannotconfine her spectres within the dim region of her sway, but suffersthem to break forth, affrighting this actual life with secrets thatperchance belong to a deeper one. Aylmer now remembered his dream.He had fancied himself with his servant Aminadab, attempting anoperation for the removal of the birthmark; but the deeper went theknife, the deeper sank the hand, until at length its tiny graspappeared to have caught hold of Georgiana's heart; whence, however,her husband was inexorably resolved to cut or wrench it away. When the dream had shaped itself perfectly in his memory, Aylmersat in his wife's presence with a guilty feeling. Truth often findsits way to the mind close muffled in robes of sleep, and thenspeaks with uncompromising directness of matters in regard to whichwe practise an unconscious self-deception during our wakingmoments. Until now he had not been aware of the tyrannizinginfluence acquired by one idea over his mind, and of the lengthswhich he might find in his heart to go for the sake of givinghimself peace. "Aylmer," resumed Georgiana, solemnly, "I know not what may bethe cost to both of us to rid me of this fatal birthmark. Perhapsits removal may cause cureless deformity; or it may be the staingoes as deep as life itself. Again: do we know that there is apossibility, on any terms, of unclasping the firm gripe of thislittle hand which was laid upon me before I came into theworld?" "Dearest Georgiana, I have spent much thought upon the subject,"hastily interrupted Aylmer. "I am convinced of the perfectpracticability of its removal." "If there be the remotest possibility of it," continuedGeorgiana, "let the attempt be made at whatever risk. Danger isnothing to me; for life, while this hateful mark makes me theobject of your horror and disgust,--life is a burden which I wouldfling down with joy. Either remove this dreadful hand, or take mywretched life! You have deep science. All the world bears witnessof it. You have achieved great wonders. Cannot you remove thislittle, little mark, which I cover with the tips of two smallfingers? Is this beyond your power, for the sake of your own peace,and to save your poor wife from madness?" "Noblest, dearest, tenderest wife," cried Aylmer, rapturously,"doubt not my power. I have already given this matter the deepestthought--thought which might almost have enlightened me to create abeing less perfect than yourself. Georgiana, you have led me deeperthan ever into the heart of science. I feel myself fully competentto render this dear cheek as faultless as its fellow; and then,most beloved, what will be my triumph when I shall have correctedwhat Nature left
imperfect in her fairest work! Even Pygmalion,when his sculptured woman assumed life, felt not greater ecstasythan mine will be." "It is resolved, then," said Georgiana, faintly smiling. "And,Aylmer, spare me not, though you should find the birthmark takerefuge in my heart at last." Her husband tenderly kissed her cheek--her right cheek--not thatwhich bore the impress of the crimson hand. The next day Aylmer apprised his wife of a plan that he hadformed whereby he might have opportunity for the intense thoughtand constant watchfulness which the proposed operation wouldrequire; while Georgiana, likewise, would enjoy the perfect reposeessential to its success. They were to seclude themselves in theextensive apartments occupied by Aylmer as a laboratory, and where,during his toilsome youth, he had made discoveries in the elementalpowers of Nature that had roused the admiration of all the learnedsocieties in Europe. Seated calmly in this laboratory, the palephilosopher had investigated the secrets of the highest cloudregion and of the profoundest mines; he had satisfied himself ofthe causes that kindled and kept alive the fires of the volcano;and had explained the mystery of fountains, and how it is that theygush forth, some so bright and pure, and others with such richmedicinal virtues, from the dark bosom of the earth. Here, too, atan earlier period, he had studied the wonders of the human frame,and attempted to fathom the very process by which Natureassimilates all her precious influences from earth and air, andfrom the spiritual world, to create and foster man, hermasterpiece. The latter pursuit, however, Aylmer had long laidaside in unwilling recognition of the truth--against which allseekers sooner or later stumble--that our great creative Mother,while she amuses us with apparently working in the broadestsunshine, is yet severely careful to keep her own secrets, and, inspite of her pretended openness, shows us nothing but results. Shepermits us, indeed, to mar, but seldom to mend, and, like a jealouspatentee, on no account to make. Now, however, Aylmer resumed thesehalf-forgotten investigations; not, of course, with such hopes orwishes as first suggested them; but because they involved muchphysiological truth and lay in the path of his proposed scheme forthe treatment of Georgiana. As he led her over the threshold of the laboratory, Georgianawas cold and tremulous. Aylmer looked cheerfully into her face,with intent to reassure her, but was so startled with the intenseglow of the birthmark upon the whiteness of her cheek that he couldnot restrain a strong convulsive shudder. His wife fainted. "Aminadab! Aminadab!" shouted Aylmer, stamping violently on thefloor. Forthwith there issued from an inner apartment a man of lowstature, but bulky frame, with shaggy hair hanging about hisvisage, which was grimed with the vapors of the furnace. Thispersonage had been Aylmer's underworker during his whole scientificcareer, and was admirably fitted for that office by his greatmechanical readiness, and the skill with which, while incapable ofcomprehending a single principle, he executed all the details ofhis master's experiments. With his vast strength, his shaggy hair,his smoky aspect, and the indescribable earthiness that incrustedhim, he seemed to represent man's physical nature; while Aylmer'sslender figure, and pale, intellectual face, were no less apt atype of the spiritual element.
"Throw open the door of the boudoir, Aminadab," said Aylmer,"and burn a pastil." "Yes, master," answered Aminadab, looking intently at thelifeless form of Georgiana; and then he muttered to himself, "Ifshe were my wife, I'd never part with that birthmark." When Georgiana recovered consciousness she found herselfbreathing an atmosphere of penetrating fragrance, the gentlepotency of which had recalled her from her deathlike faintness. Thescene around her looked like enchantment. Aylmer had convertedthose smoky, dingy, sombre rooms, where he had spent his brightestyears in recondite pursuits, into a series of beautiful apartmentsnot unfit to be the secluded abode of a lovely woman. The wallswere hung with gorgeous curtains, which imparted the combination ofgrandeur and grace that no other species of adornment can achieve;and as they fell from the ceiling to the floor, their rich andponderous folds, concealing all angles and straight lines, appearedto shut in the scene from infinite space. For aught Georgiana knew,it might be a pavilion among the clouds. And Aylmer, excluding thesunshine, which would have interfered with his chemical processes,had supplied its place with perfumed lamps, emitting flames ofvarious hue, but all uniting in a soft, impurpled radiance. He nowknelt by his wife's side, watching her earnestly, but withoutalarm; for he was confident in his science, and felt that he coulddraw a magic circle round her within which no evil mightintrude. "Where am I? Ah, I remember," said Georgiana, faintly; and sheplaced her hand over her cheek to hide the terrible mark from herhusband's eyes. "Fear not, dearest!" exclaimed he. "Do not shrink from me!Believe me, Georgiana, I even rejoice in this single imperfection,since it will be such a rapture to remove it." "Oh, spare me!" sadly replied his wife. "Pray do not look at itagain. I never can forget that convulsive shudder." In order to soothe Georgiana, and, as it were, to release hermind from the burden of actual things, Aylmer now put in practicesome of the light and playful secrets which science had taught himamong its profounder lore. Airy figures, absolutely bodiless ideas,and forms of unsubstantial beauty came and danced before her,imprinting their momentary footsteps on beams of light. Though shehad some indistinct idea of the method of these optical phenomena,still the illusion was almost perfect enough to warrant the beliefthat her husband possessed sway over the spiritual world. Thenagain, when she felt a wish to look forth from her seclusion,immediately, as if her thoughts were answered, the procession ofexternal existence flitted across a screen. The scenery and thefigures of actual life were perfectly represented, but with thatbewitching, yet indescribable difference which always makes apicture, an image, or a shadow so much more attractive than theoriginal. When wearied of this, Aylmer bade her cast her eyes upona vessel containing a quantity of earth. She did so, with littleinterest at first; but was soon startled to perceive the germ of aplant shooting upward from the soil. Then came the slender stalk;the leaves gradually unfolded themselves; and amid them was aperfect and lovely flower. "It is magical!" cried Georgiana. "I dare not touch it."
"Nay, pluck it," answered Aylmer,--"pluck it, and inhale itsbrief perfume while you may. The flower will wither in a fewmoments and leave nothing save its brown seed vessels; but thencemay be perpetuated a race as ephemeral as itself." But Georgiana had no sooner touched the flower than the wholeplant suffered a blight, its leaves turning coal-black as if by theagency of fire. "There was too powerful a stimulus," said Aylmer,thoughtfully. To make up for this abortive experiment, he proposed to take herportrait by a scientific process of his own invention. It was to beeffected by rays of light striking upon a polished plate of metal.Georgiana assented; but, on looking at the result, was affrightedto find the features of the portrait blurred and indefinable; whilethe minute figure of a hand appeared where the cheek should havebeen. Aylmer snatched the metallic plate and threw it into a jar ofcorrosive acid. Soon, however, he forgot these mortifying failures. In theintervals of study and chemical experiment he came to her flushedand exhausted, but seemed invigorated by her presence, and spoke inglowing language of the resources of his art. He gave a history ofthe long dynasty of the alchemists, who spent so many ages in questof the universal solvent by which the golden principle might beelicited from all things vile and base. Aylmer appeared to believethat, by the plainest scientific logic, it was altogether withinthe limits of possibility to discover this longsought medium;"but," he added, "a philosopher who should go deep enough toacquire the power would attain too lofty a wisdom to stoop to theexercise of it." Not less singular were his opinions in regard tothe elixir vitae. He more than intimated that it was at his optionto concoct a liquid that should prolong life for years, perhapsinterminably; but that it would produce a discord in Nature whichall the world, and chiefly the quaffer of the immortal nostrum,would find cause to curse. "Aylmer, are you in earnest?" asked Georgiana, looking at himwith amazement and fear. "It is terrible to possess such power, oreven to dream of possessing it." "Oh, do not tremble, my love," said her husband. "I would notwrong either you or myself by working such inharmonious effectsupon our lives; but I would have you consider how trifling, incomparison, is the skill requisite to remove this little hand." At the mention of the birthmark, Georgiana, as usual, shrank asif a redhot iron had touched her cheek. Again Aylmer applied himself to his labors. She could hear hisvoice in the distant furnace room giving directions to Aminadab,whose harsh, uncouth, misshapen tones were audible in response,more like the grunt or growl of a brute than human speech. Afterhours of absence, Aylmer reappeared and proposed that she shouldnow examine his cabinet of chemical products and natural treasuresof the earth. Among the former he showed her a small vial, inwhich, he remarked, was contained a gentle yet most powerfulfragrance, capable of impregnating all the breezes that blow acrossa kingdom. They were of inestimable value, the contents of thatlittle
vial; and, as he said so, he threw some of the perfume intothe air and filled the room with piercing and invigoratingdelight. "And what is this?" asked Georgiana, pointing to a small crystalglobe containing a gold-colored liquid. "It is so beautiful to theeye that I could imagine it the elixir of life." "In one sense it is," replied Aylmer; "or, rather, the elixir ofimmortality. It is the most precious poison that ever was concoctedin this world. By its aid I could apportion the lifetime of anymortal at whom you might point your finger. The strength of thedose would determine whether he were to linger out years, or dropdead in the midst of a breath. No king on his guarded throne couldkeep his life if I, in my private station, should deem that thewelfare of millions justified me in depriving him of it." "Why do you keep such a terrific drug?" inquired Georgiana inhorror. "Do not mistrust me, dearest," said her husband, smiling; "itsvirtuous potency is yet greater than its harmful one. But see! hereis a powerful cosmetic. With a few drops of this in a vase ofwater, freckles may be washed away as easily as the hands arecleansed. A stronger infusion would take the blood out of thecheek, and leave the rosiest beauty a pale ghost." "Is it with this lotion that you intend to bathe my cheek?"asked Georgiana, anxiously. "Oh, no," hastily replied her husband; "this is merelysuperficial. Your case demands a remedy that shall go deeper." In his interviews with Georgiana, Aylmer generally made minuteinquiries as to her sensations and whether the confinement of therooms and the temperature of the atmosphere agreed with her. Thesequestions had such a particular drift that Georgiana began toconjecture that she was already subjected to certain physicalinfluences, either breathed in with the fragrant air or taken withher food. She fancied likewise, but it might be altogether fancy,that there was a stirring up of her system--a strange, indefinitesensation creeping through her veins, and tingling, half painfully,half pleasurably, at her heart. Still, whenever she dared to lookinto the mirror, there she beheld herself pale as a white rose andwith the crimson birthmark stamped upon her cheek. Not even Aylmernow hated it so much as she. To dispel the tedium of the hours which her husband found itnecessary to devote to the processes of combination and analysis,Georgiana turned over the volumes of his scientific library. Inmany dark old tomes she met with chapters full of romance andpoetry. They were the works of philosophers of the middle ages,such as Albertus Magnus, Cornelius Agrippa, Paracelsus, and thefamous friar who created the prophetic Brazen Head. All theseantique naturalists stood in advance of their centuries, yet wereimbued with some of their credulity, and therefore were believed,and perhaps imagined themselves to have acquired from theinvestigation of Nature a power above Nature, and from physics asway over the spiritual world. Hardly less curious and imaginativewere the early volumes of the Transactions of the Royal Society, inwhich the members, knowing little of the limits of naturalpossibility, were continually recording wonders or proposingmethods whereby wonders might be wrought.
But to Georgiana the most engrossing volume was a large foliofrom her husband's own hand, in which he had recorded everyexperiment of his scientific career, its original aim, the methodsadopted for its development, and its final success or failure, withthe circumstances to which either event was attributable. The book,in truth, was both the history and emblem of his ardent, ambitious,imaginative, yet practical and laborious life. He handled physicaldetails as if there were nothing beyond them; yet spiritualizedthem all, and redeemed himself from materialism by his strong andeager aspiration towards the infinite. In his grasp the veriestclod of earth assumed a soul. Georgiana, as she read, reverencedAylmer and loved him more profoundly than ever, but with a lessentire dependence on his judgment than heretofore. Much as he hadaccomplished, she could not but observe that his most splendidsuccesses were almost invariably failures, if compared with theideal at which he aimed. His brightest diamonds were the merestpebbles, and felt to be so by himself, in comparison with theinestimable gems which lay hidden beyond his reach. The volume,rich with achievements that had won renown for its author, was yetas melancholy a record as ever mortal hand had penned. It was thesad confession and continual exemplification of the shortcomings ofthe composite man, the spirit burdened with clay and working inmatter, and of the despair that assails the higher nature atfinding itself so miserably thwarted by the earthly part. Perhapsevery man of genius in whatever sphere might recognize the image ofhis own experience in Aylmer's journal. So deeply did these reflections affect Georgiana that she laidher face upon the open volume and burst into tears. In thissituation she was found by her husband. "It is dangerous to read in a sorcerer's books," said he with asmile, though his countenance was uneasy and displeased."Georgiana, there are pages in that volume which I can scarcelyglance over and keep my senses. Take heed lest it prove asdetrimental to you." "It has made me worship you more than ever," said she. "Ah, wait for this one success," rejoined he, "then worship meif you will. I shall deem myself hardly unworthy of it. But come, Ihave sought you for the luxury of your voice. Sing to me,dearest." So she poured out the liquid music of her voice to quench thethirst of his spirit. He then took his leave with a boyishexuberance of gayety, assuring her that her seclusion would endurebut a little longer, and that the result was already certain.Scarcely had he departed when Georgiana felt irresistibly impelledto follow him. She had forgotten to inform Aylmer of a symptomwhich for two or three hours past had begun to excite herattention. It was a sensation in the fatal birthmark, not painful,but which induced a restlessness throughout her system. Hasteningafter her husband, she intruded for the first time into thelaboratory. The first thing that struck her eye was the furnace, that hotand feverish worker, with the intense glow of its fire, which bythe quantities of soot clustered above it seemed to have beenburning for ages. There was a distilling apparatus in fulloperation. Around the room were retorts, tubes, cylinders,crucibles, and other apparatus of chemical research. An electricalmachine stood ready for immediate use. The atmosphere feltoppressively close, and was tainted with gaseous odors which hadbeen tormented forth by the processes of science. The severe andhomely simplicity of
the apartment, with its naked walls and brickpavement, looked strange, accustomed as Georgiana had become to thefantastic elegance of her boudoir. But what chiefly, indeed almostsolely, drew her attention, was the aspect of Aylmer himself. He was pale as death, anxious and absorbed, and hung over thefurnace as if it depended upon his utmost watchfulness whether theliquid which it was distilling should be the draught of immortalhappiness or misery. How different from the sanguine and joyousmien that he had assumed for Georgiana's encouragement! "Carefully now, Aminadab; carefully, thou human machine;carefully, thou man of clay!" muttered Aylmer, more to himself thanhis assistant. "Now, if there be a thought too much or too little,it is all over." "Ho! ho!" mumbled Aminadab. "Look, master! look!" Aylmer raised his eyes hastily, and at first reddened, then grewpaler than ever, on beholding Georgiana. He rushed towards her andseized her arm with a gripe that left the print of his fingers uponit. "Why do you come hither? Have you no trust in your husband?"cried he, impetuously. "Would you throw the blight of that fatalbirthmark over my labors? It is not well done. Go, prying woman,go!" "Nay, Aylmer," said Georgiana with the firmness of which shepossessed no stinted endowment, "it is not you that have a right tocomplain. You mistrust your wife; you have concealed the anxietywith which you watch the development of this experiment. Think notso unworthily of me, my husband. Tell me all the risk we run, andfear not that I shall shrink; for my share in it is far less thanyour own." "No, no, Georgiana!" said Aylmer, impatiently; "it must notbe." "I submit," replied she calmly. "And, Aylmer, I shall quaffwhatever draught you bring me; but it will be on the same principlethat would induce me to take a dose of poison if offered by yourhand." "My noble wife," said Aylmer, deeply moved, "I knew not theheight and depth of your nature until now. Nothing shall beconcealed. Know, then, that this crimson hand, superficial as itseems, has clutched its grasp into your being with a strength ofwhich I had no previous conception. I have already administeredagents powerful enough to do aught except to change your entirephysical system. Only one thing remains to be tried. If that failus we are ruined." "Why did you hesitate to tell me this?" asked she. "Because, Georgiana," said Aylmer, in a low voice, "there isdanger."
"Danger? There is but one danger--that this horrible stigmashall be left upon my cheek!" cried Georgiana. "Remove it, removeit, whatever be the cost, or we shall both go mad!" "Heaven knows your words are too true," said Aylmer, sadly. "Andnow, dearest, return to your boudoir. In a little while all will betested." He conducted her back and took leave of her with a solemntenderness which spoke far more than his words how much was now atstake. After his departure Georgiana became rapt in musings. Sheconsidered the character of Aylmer, and did it completer justicethan at any previous moment. Her heart exulted, while it trembled,at his honorable love--so pure and lofty that it would acceptnothing less than perfection nor miserably make itself contentedwith an earthlier nature than he had dreamed of. She felt how muchmore precious was such a sentiment than that meaner kind whichwould have borne with the imperfection for her sake, and have beenguilty of treason to holy love by degrading its perfect idea to thelevel of the actual; and with her whole spirit she prayed that, fora single moment, she might satisfy his highest and deepestconception. Longer than one moment she well knew it could not be;for his spirit was ever on the march, ever ascending, and eachinstant required something that was beyond the scope of the instantbefore. The sound of her husband's footsteps aroused her. He bore acrystal goblet containing a liquor colorless as water, but brightenough to be the draught of immortality. Aylmer was pale; but itseemed rather the consequence of a highly-wrought state of mind andtension of spirit than of fear or doubt. "The concoction of the draught has been perfect," said he, inanswer to Georgiana's look. "Unless all my science have deceivedme, it cannot fail." "Save on your account, my dearest Aylmer," observed his wife, "Imight wish to put off this birthmark of mortality by relinquishingmortality itself in preference to any other mode. Life is but a sadpossession to those who have attained precisely the degree of moraladvancement at which I stand. Were I weaker and blinder it might behappiness. Were I stronger, it might be endured hopefully. But,being what I find myself, methinks I am of all mortals the most fitto die." "You are fit for heaven without tasting death!" replied herhusband "But why do we speak of dying? The draught cannot fail.Behold its effect upon this plant." On the window seat there stood a geranium diseased with yellowblotches, which had overspread all its leaves. Aylmer poured asmall quantity of the liquid upon the soil in which it grew. In alittle time, when the roots of the plant had taken up the moisture,the unsightly blotches began to be extinguished in a livingverdure. "There needed no proof," said Georgiana, quietly. "Give me thegoblet I joyfully stake all upon your word." "Drink, then, thou lofty creature!" exclaimed Aylmer, withfervid admiration. "There is no taint of imperfection on thyspirit. Thy sensible frame, too, shall soon be all perfect."
She quaffed the liquid and returned the goblet to his hand. "It is grateful," said she with a placid smile. "Methinks it islike water from a heavenly fountain; for it contains I know notwhat of unobtrusive fragrance and deliciousness. It allays afeverish thirst that had parched me for many days. Now, dearest,let me sleep. My earthly senses are closing over my spirit like theleaves around the heart of a rose at sunset." She spoke the last words with a gentle reluctance, as if itrequired almost more energy than she could command to pronounce thefaint and lingering syllables. Scarcely had they loitered throughher lips ere she was lost in slumber. Aylmer sat by her side,watching her aspect with the emotions proper to a man the wholevalue of whose existence was involved in the process now to betested. Mingled with this mood, however, was the philosophicinvestigation characteristic of the man of science. Not theminutest symptom escaped him. A heightened flush of the cheek, aslight irregularity of breath, a quiver of the eyelid, a hardlyperceptible tremor through the frame,--such were the details which,as the moments passed, he wrote down in his folio volume. Intensethought had set its stamp upon every previous page of that volume,but the thoughts of years were all concentrated upon the last. While thus employed, he failed not to gaze often at the fatalhand, and not without a shudder. Yet once, by a strange andunaccountable impulse he pressed it with his lips. His spiritrecoiled, however, in the very act, and Georgiana, out of the midstof her deep sleep, moved uneasily and murmured as if inremonstrance. Again Aylmer resumed his watch. Nor was it withoutavail. The crimson hand, which at first had been strongly visibleupon the marble paleness of Georgiana's cheek, now grew morefaintly outlined. She remained not less pale than ever; but thebirthmark with every breath that came and went, lost somewhat ofits former distinctness. Its presence had been awful; its departurewas more awful still. Watch the stain of the rainbow fading out thesky, and you will know how that mysterious symbol passed away. "By Heaven! it is well-nigh gone!" said Aylmer to himself, inalmost irrepressible ecstasy. "I can scarcely trace it now.Success! success! And now it is like the faintest rose color. Thelightest flush of blood across her cheek would overcome it. But sheis so pale!" He drew aside the window curtain and suffered the light ofnatural day to fall into the room and rest upon her cheek. At thesame time he heard a gross, hoarse chuckle, which he had long knownas his servant Aminadab's expression of delight. "Ah, clod! ah, earthly mass!" cried Aylmer, laughing in a sortof frenzy, "you have served me well! Matter and spirit--earth andheaven --have both done their part in this! Laugh, thing of thesenses! You have earned the right to laugh." These exclamations broke Georgiana's sleep. She slowly unclosedher eyes and gazed into the mirror which her husband had arrangedfor that purpose. A faint smile flitted over her lips when sherecognized how barely perceptible was now that crimson hand whichhad once blazed forth with such disastrous brilliancy as to scareaway all their happiness. But then her eyes sought Aylmer's facewith a trouble and anxiety that he could by no means accountfor.
"My poor Aylmer!" murmured she. "Poor? Nay, richest, happiest, most favored!" exclaimed he. "Mypeerless bride, it is successful! You are perfect!" "My poor Aylmer," she repeated, with a more than humantenderness, "you have aimed loftily; you have done nobly. Do notrepent that with so high and pure a feeling, you have rejected thebest the earth could offer. Aylmer, dearest Aylmer, I amdying!" Alas! it was too true! The fatal hand had grappled with themystery of life, and was the bond by which an angelic spirit keptitself in union with a mortal frame. As the last crimson tint ofthe birthmark--that sole token of human imperfection--faded fromher cheek, the parting breath of the now perfect woman passed intothe atmosphere, and her soul, lingering a moment near her husband,took its heavenward flight. Then a hoarse, chuckling laugh washeard again! Thus ever does the gross fatality of earth exult inits invariable triumph over the immortal essence which, in this dimsphere of half development, demands the completeness of a higherstate. Yet, had Alymer reached a profounder wisdom, he need notthus have flung away the happiness which would have woven hismortal life of the selfsame texture with the celestial. Themomentary circumstance was too strong for him; he failed to lookbeyond the shadowy scope of time, and, living once for all ineternity, to find the perfect future in the present.